


Line and Chase

by Cinnamon1895



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Brotherly Angst, Post Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-10
Updated: 2013-10-10
Packaged: 2017-12-28 21:24:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/996868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cinnamon1895/pseuds/Cinnamon1895
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft visits the detective two years after the Fall, and finds him to be less than cooperative.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Line and Chase

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warning for mentions of drug use

> **  
> **
> 
> Mycroft rapped smartly at the door in the musty hallway. He cringed inwardly at the loudness of the noise in the otherwise quiet building. When there was no reply, he knocked again. “I know you’re in there.” he called wearily. Still no reply. With a sigh, he tucked his umbrella under one arm and used the other hand to dig into his pocket. He pulled out a pick and started fiddling with the lock. Before he got far, the door pulled open. On the other side was his younger brother, though two years had changed him drastically. His already lanky form had grown gaunt and sickly, shoulders hunched down instead of straight. Eyes usually clear and concise were cloudy and red, framed by a shock of blonde curls that were grown long. His nose was red and irritated, and his mouth pressed into a thin line.
> 
>  
> 
> “What do you want.” Sherlock more stated than asked, his voice holding but a ghost of its previous arrogance. He didn’t look his brother in the eye.
> 
>  
> 
> “Pleasure to see you, brother dear. I’d love to come in, thank you.” Mycroft pushed past into the small apartment. It was one room with a counter separating the kitchen from the main room, and a door presumably leading to a bedroom or bathroom. Probably a bathroom, considering Sherlock’s apparent limited funds. The floor was littered with clothes and odd books and bottles and bags. Mycroft waded carefully through the mess to the center of the room before turning around. “Well?” he asked.
> 
>  
> 
> “Well.” Sherlock echoed listlessly, leaning his shoulder against the door until it shut. He brought a hand to his face and rubbed his eyes. After a moment of silence, he looked up. “I’m a very busy man, I haven’t got time to piddle around with you. You’re expecting an apology, I assume?”
> 
>  
> 
> “From you? Hardly.” Mycroft said dryly. “However, you do owe me an explanation. What exactly did you think-”
> 
>  
> 
> “I owe you nothing, it was your carelessness that put me in this position.” Sherlock muttered in his old matter-of-fact fashion,  “If you had had the sense to keep Moriarty locked in the cage you had him in, none of this would have happened.” He moved awkwardly as he spoke, his legs and torso and head staying oddly still, while his face contorted and his hands twitched nervously against his thigh.
> 
>  
> 
> “You and I both know I never had any power over him.” Mycroft said with forced calmness,  “He could have escaped any time he pleased. However,” he hesitated “I was careless. I allowed him to-”
> 
>  
> 
> “Enough!” Sherlock roared suddenly, slamming a fist against the door. The sudden outburst weakened him, and he slumped against the door. Mycroft didn’t move to help him. “I don’t want your fucking apologies, or your fucking pity, and you know that. Why are you here?” He looked around, eyes alight with a sudden revelation. “Forgiveness. Oh of course, stupid, stupid.” He turned around so his back leaned against the door, and laughed humorlessly. “The Ice Man fucked up, and he just can’t sleep at night until his little brother forgives him.” When Mycroft didn’t reply, he snorted. “It would be very pretty, wouldn’t it? We could kiss and make up and I’d come back to London, be Lestrade’s fucking bloodhound again. Relive the glory days, hm? You’d like that, wouldn’t you, so you can keep an eye on me.
> 
> ”
> 
> “You could come back-” Mycroft began.
> 
>  
> 
> “I’m never coming back.” Sherlock cut him off. “So you can give it up. I know about Mary.” he continued after a moment, spitting her name out like a disgusting slur. “John’s getting married, he won’t want anything to do with me. There’s no point in coming back. There’s nothing left for me in London, so you can get out.” he finished, moving away from the door. When Mycroft made no move to leave, he groaned. “What do you want?” he demanded.
> 
>  
> 
> “Why did you do it?” Mycroft asked. Sherlock raised his eyebrows.
> 
>  
> 
> “You’re going to have to be more specific.” he prompted, overly feigning interest. Mycroft hesitated for a second, then continued.
> 
>  
> 
> “I have lived my entire life defending you from those who accuse you of sociopathy, even psychopathy. You never showed any affection towards anyone. Sometimes, I doubted you even had a heart for me to defend. And yet you uprooted your entire life based on the mere theory that Mr. Watson was in danger. You had a comfortable life, work, even friends - or rather, people who tolerated your presence. And you lost them. The two years you have been gone, John gained a wife, Lestrade a promotion, and Moriarty fame. What have you gained?”
> 
>  
> 
> Sherlock looked up and met his brother’s eyes. For just a moment, his expression softened, and his lip trembled. Just for a moment.
> 
>  
> 
> “A line of cocaine...and a chase.”
> 
>  


End file.
